


The Night Unfurls

by TurnTechTimaeus



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Eileen is mentioned once though, right at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnTechTimaeus/pseuds/TurnTechTimaeus
Summary: So this is heavily inspired by Bloodborne and includes elements of the actual game itself, the title is taken from one of the songs on the Bloodborne soundtrack, so enjoy and let me know if it can be made better!





	

It’s bitterly cold out and they cannot remember the last dawn that graced these wretched streets. Most hunt in packs if they can, beasts and hunters alike though there are fewer and fewer hunters to be seen as the night wears on. For their part, they hunt alone, taking out hunters who are drunk on the blood of those they hunt and the beasts that stalk the cobbled streets. The only sounds are those of their whetstone running along the blade of their scythe and the distant howls of beasts. Perhaps this night has gone on for aeons or perhaps mere hours they’re not sure, the hunt never seems to end and those that are still alive and human cower in their homes, smart enough not to venture out. 

Their footsteps echo as they move swiftly through the streets, a flash of red, gold and black trailed by moonlight glinting off tarnished steel. They’ve woken in the past from wounds that should have killed them, felt claws and teeth rend at their flesh and heard their own screams as they die, though each time they have woken at the last place they rested, it always seems to be an incense filled lamp, and surged back into the fray. When the hunt first started there were many hunters like them, those who would come back from death and walk the streets killing beasts with ruthless efficiency. They pause briefly when they spot a beast in the courtyard in front of them, the beasts fur is matted and blood coats the floor. It’s a matter of moments before they surge forwards and raise their scythe in an arc, the blade flashing dully in the moonlight and blood splatters the ground. The beast releases a strangled howl before collapsing in a heap. 

The streets are largely empty and the incense lingers in the air in a thin haze though nowadays it does little against the beasts, most hunters no longer wear masks with incense in preferring instead to rely on that which hangs in the air. They know few hunters, themself included who still wear the beaked masks filled with the stuff. They’ve been walking for what feels like an age when they come across another hunter resting on some stairs leading up to the cathedral which looms over the city. As they come closer they realise the hunter is a young man who has fear etched all over his face, it’s clearly his first hunt.   
“Tell me young hunter do you dream?” They ask coming to a standstill in front of the man who peers up terrified.   
“Yes.” He squeaks. It’s been a long time since someone had answered with ‘yes’ and their heart is filled with dread for the young man.  
“Then there is no need to quake in your boots. The night is long but the hunt is longer. Just remember ‘Fear the Old Blood’” With that they stride past him and into the silent darkened cathedral. 

The moon reaches its peak maybe minutes or hours later and the beasts are no longer the wolf-like creatures they’re used to facing. Rather they’re octopus like and move with a squelching noise. It feels like they’re being driven to madness almost, the air is eerily still and the moon seems to have taken on a red tinge. They wonder briefly if the hunt had ended previously or if it is an endless night for they cannot remember the last time the sun warmed their skin or glinted off the windows as every time they have awoken from what should have been death it has been dark. The squelching noise makes it easy to tell when the creatures come and while the creatures may be fast they are faster and unusually coloured blood paints the streets. They rest again, next to a lamp where incense hangs thick in the air and beasts nor creatures seem to stray. They drift off for a while and dream, they’re grateful for that when they wake for while they’re taught to fear the old blood many hunters fear the time when their dreams end and they must become cautious or go mad with bloodlust. How many friends and comrades have they had to kill they wonder as they lurch upright and make their way through the streets. 

They slip easily through well-used shortcuts, occasionally pausing to read notes written in the handwritings of long dead friends, some showing the slow descent into bloodlust and others being outright ramblings. They pause when they reach a note hastily scribbled on parchment, the ink still wet and the smell of copper hangs in the air. Below them in an overgrown graveyard where grey stone is being splattered crimson they see a brown-haired man, eyes obscured by bandages hacking at long dead beasts, citizens and the octopus like beasts they’d seen earlier. A rune hangs around his neck and they know him, he was an old friend once, their backup when things went wrong. They’d both died many times but looking down on him from the upper storey window they know what they must do, no one comes back from the madness. They move quietly down wooden stairs littered with papers, the candles beginning to burn low causing their shadow to elongate and their scythe to glint dangerously. A weight settles in their chest, it always does when they have to kill those they knew, though truth be told there’s always a madness in the eyes of those they have to kill like they’ve seen too much or all the knowledge in the cosmos has filled their brains and they can’t deal with it. 

They notice he stills when he hears their footsteps and turns mere seconds later. For a long while neither of them move, it’s as if even in his madness he knows them. It doesn’t last though, he’s as quick as they remember and they rush backwards scythe coming up to meet the blade and the sound of metal on metal runs through them. It’s mere seconds later that they’re run through with the blade, a scream dying in their throat before it’s even fully formed, the sounds of the blade being wrenched out is the last thing they hear. They wake in the upper storey window above the graveyard, having dreamt but still feeling the pain of the wound even though it no longer mars their skin. Their feet carry them into the graveyard again where he stands muttering and hacking at the pile near his feet. This time they don’t hesitate, their scythe swings a broad arc their black cloak billowing out around them revealing the red and gold undershirt. He may have been their backup once, they may have loved him once and shared information on shortcuts but now his blood splatters on their cloak and they feel nothing for the madman he became but a part of them aches for the hunter they once knew. They pull the rune from around his neck, move his bandages to close glassy green eyes before covering them again and then leave the graveyard.

The moon hangs low in the sky, perhaps the hunt is ending and they’ll see the sun again, they muse. It’s a sliver of hope but it’s just enough that no matter what they’ve seen be it the wolf-like beasts that stalk the outer districts or the octopus like creatures that roam the inner ones they can hold onto their sanity. They’ve stood in front of those the Church claims to be gods and struck them down, they’ve begged and pleaded for the sun to rise so that the citizens may resume their lives for while the night is long the hunt is ever longer and it has sown seeds of distrust amongst those who live here. 

They’re slumped on some stairs, a pool of slowly coagulating blood has formed around them, they don’t remember when they stopped dreaming, but they do remember how the wound was sustained, there’s no point in trying to heal it. The young hunter pauses when he sees them.  
“Stay away from that cathedral, you hear?” They state, it’s almost a plea lest the young hunter fall to madness the way the huntress in the cathedral has. The young hunter nods, sword strapped across his back and then just before he moves towards the cathedral anyway they grab his hand and press a badge into it.  
“Be wary if you are going to hunt other hunters, you’ll be hunted too one day.” He nods, as if he’s accepting this fate and then heads into the cathedral regardless.  
“Eileen I’m sorry.” They murmur as their world fades to black.


End file.
